Monkey In the Middle
by dream stories inc
Summary: Greg has gone for months hearing about how much Sherlock loves John, what will happen when John finds out?


"Garry, he knows just how I like my TEA! And the way he holds little Rosie is so attractive when he plays with her or starts singing lullabies. He truly has an incredible voice..." he trailed off.

Sherlock sat with Greg Lestrade in his office at the yard with his legs over the arm of the chair. Sherlock was in the middle of his almost daily rant about his infatuation with his flatmate. Lestrade responds with the same line for the 7th time this month.

"Well, if you really feel this way, you need to tell him because living with him like this is driving you crazy." Lestrade sat back in his chair and looked out the glass and catches the questioning glance of Donovan, to which he replies with a small shake of his head.

"I can't do that, and you know why! I'm accustomed to things of this nature!" Sherlock sneered, "love, romance, such petty things that get in the way of my work! I mean, here I am for the second time this week on the same exasperatingly futile subject! Not only is he not gay!" and then more somberly, "but he deserves far better than what I am capable of managing."

Greg sighed, Sherlock loved to rant, "Listen Sherlock, I don't know what else to tell you," he handed the detective a manilla file, "here's the case you asked for, see if that helps clear your mind. You should be happy, it's a homicide." Sherlock reached out and grabbed the folder. He then snapped up out of his seat as if the last hour and a half had never occured.

"I'll solve it by the morning, Have a nice day." he then exited the office with a swish of his coat.

* * *

The clock read 19:37, Greg was packing up to go home for the day he heard a knock on the glass door to his office. He looked up from his bag to see a very distraught John Watson at the door looking like he had had a couple drinks but overall not too drunk. This caused some worry in the Detective inspector. What had Sherlock done this time?

"Come in, John? Is everything alright?" the door clicked behind the doctor as they both sat down.

"Greg, I think I might have a problem," said John looking down at the desk

"First off, is everyone okay? Is anyone hurt?" greg spoke in a matter-of-fact way that hid his fears.

"Oh! Of course, sorry, I probably shouldn't be bothering you with this. You probably have more important things to do… actually, I should go" John moved to stand up

"No, sit. I always have time for friends." the response elicited a grateful smile on John's tired face as he returned to his seat. "What's going on?"

"Well, I don't know how to put this in any form of delicacy and I'm at a loss. I mean, Detective, you know me, I've always been a romantic man sappy you might even say, I have dated many women but not too may, you know i've been married and now that I'm a widower and I have a child to look after and its all a little fast and I know I shouldn't think things like this so soon after her death but it's all happening so fast and I know it was there before and then the thing happened and now their back and... But lately they've been doing nice things for me and complimenting me and being sweet and I know it's wrong to enjoy it but lately there have been these… thoughts… not good ones. And I know I shouldn't like it, it's… my father would kill me if he could see me now. I don't know how to take It and my chest keeps getting warm and burning when he does stuff and I…"

"Whoa! Hold on," Greg interrupted obviously confused, "who are we talking about?" John paused his senseless rant for a minute, he tried to look Greg in the eye,which resulted in him staring at the carpet underneath the desk for a long silent minute. Faintly but not unrecognizably he whispered, "sherlock."

Guilt littered his features as he apprehensively looked up to see the Detective Inspector's reaction. Gregory just looked at him as if he had seen this coming from a mile off.

"But the thing is," the doctor continued, "Sherlock isn't interested in romance, he abhors it actually, you should see him watch the telly!" He laughs a little before he finally threw his hands up in defeat."What am I supposed to do?"

"Tell him how you feel."

"And if he rejects me? I mean I'm not gay!" He sighed then, almost lovingly… almost, "it's just... him. It's always him" John turned beet red at this.

Both men stood up and made their way to the door, the rest of the office was dark and devoid of people, Lestrade clapped a hand on john's shoulder and gave a small smirk, "I think it might go better than you expect. Also, I ought to warn you, you have a new case"

With that, they made their way out of the office and bid each other farewell.

* * *

When John returned to Baker St. everything was as it should be, when he walked up the stairs to Sherlock's back to the door with Rosie in her highchair trying to convince her to eat her dinner. John leaned back on the doorframe to watch the scene too deep in thought about his conversation with Lestrade.

"...Taste is only subjective, you are hardly old enough to decide what you do and do not like. They're simply peas, yes, they're mashed but that doesn't affect the flavor, now would you stop spitting it back out at me and eat the food!" he tried again to put the spoon into her mouth and it seemed that he was successful and a sigh of relief filled the room. "See? Was that too terribly diffic-" he was cut short by Rosie spitting green matter onto his face and clothes at which she laughed. A groan was heard and John could not contain his laughter. Sherlock turned to him with a jaded look that spoke of 'I blame you', at this John stepped into the kitchen smirk plastered on his face.

"And how was your day Sherlock?"

Sherlock replied with a huff of indignation and retreated to the living room. John took the baby out of her highchair and carried her into the adjacent room. Sherlock was laying on the sofa with his dressing gown wrapped around him like he frequently does when he's being dramatic.

"Lestrade told me that we have a case, is it a good murder?" John looked at Sherlock who replied, "It was the brother-in-Law"

The doctor decided to play into his little game, and in a fake patronizing voice that always got Sherlock out of his shell he asked, "Really? How in the World did you figure that out in such short of a time?" Sherlock sat up, the game had worked and the detective told him every little detail of his deduction process with such vigor it was like a child explaining their favorite game on the playground. He concluded with, "it was quite simple really."

"You really are incredible." At this Sherlock's heart started to beat faster and his face went a faint shade of red like it always does when John compliments him. It was almost instinct to try and reach out for the man who's name had become his cry for help and attention, as well as the name he called when he was excited to show off and experiment. But as always, he restrained himself. He watched John retreat into the kitchen to make his usual Lavender and Sage tea with two sugar cubes and a splash of milk. Sometimes when John was gone Mrs. Hudson would make him some of the tea and it never failed to remind him of the good doctor.

On cue John returned with his cup of tea and held another out in his hand for Sherlock to take. The smell of peppermint and rosemary invaded his senses and he was completely at peace.

"Why don't you date?" the question from John had come out of the blue and took the detective by surprise. After a few seconds he calmly replied "I am married to my work" it was so matter of fact, "besides, who would want to date a sociopath will tell you your darkest secrets and habits and expose them to the world" the words were cold, rehearsed as they rolled off his tongue.

"That's not true you know." said John as he sat on the floor to play with one of Rosie's rattles with her. "You're not a sociopath, I've seen it. With me, Rosie, with Mary, your brother. You are capable of so much love sherlock, I don't understand how you refuse to share it with the world."

"All lives end, all hearts are broken, caring is not an advantage" he quoted the words his brother so often told him growing up and it made him regret his words as he didn't wish to upset the Doctor. But instead John gave him a knowing look and simply said, "you don't believe that though." it was so matter of fact and direct that it forced Sherlock to look into his motives and his actions, Killing sebastian Moran, Jumping off a building and then disappearing for two years to take down the worlds largest criminal network, following Mary's instructions. He knew that he had done all this for John and if he really was a sociopath, why would he do any of those things. Maybe he wasn't what mycroft told him he was. "No, I perhaps not."

"Then why?" John was looking up at him from the floor, there was nothing rhetorical about the question.

"I've only ever been in love once, John. It ended in a marriage, and as you know, I am a bachelor." a calculating tone swept over his story, "that conclusion made it obvious to me that I am not enough to be loved in a way that means wedding rings, and champagne, and the domestic. Besides, that aspect would have been lost on me as I am married to my work. But I have your friendship, Mycroft, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson. That will have to be enough."

"And you never wanted the wedding rings, the champagne, the domestic life, or at least some of it?"

"I won't say that I have never thought about it but the option was never available to me and therefore I cannot afford to be upset about something I know that I can never have" John winced at this and Sherlock could hear the ice that now laced his voice. He chose now to be silent.

"You can have more you know, you deserve everything you could ever want Sherlock." It hurt the detective's heart the way John said his name. Lestrade's advice from this afternoon ran through his head as a shadow passing in the halls, fleeting but everlooming.

"John" his voice was a soft whisper.

"Yeah?" John looked at him softly, head half-cocked, interested to hear what he had to say. He could feel Rosie climb into his lap and pull on his chin but he didn't care, he needed to hear what Sherlock had to say. A blossom of hope grew in his stomach and it made him shiver.

"I'm not married to my work." the man looked out the window. Dark curls fell around his face, in the golden rays of evening sunlight he looked like a god from the greek myths. Dionysus, chaotic and clever, lovely. The jade green of eyes glowed as they caught the sun. Never had Sherlock looked more beautiful and never had John wanted to present his heart on a silver platter like grapes for him to enjoy at his leisure.

"I know"

"You don't understand John, you would hate me if I told you." suddenly the pattern of the couch became very interesting to the detective but John saw through it. The hope in his stomach grew into a throb that he could feel throughout his body and seemed like it would spill out of his fingertips.

"Try me Holmes. I've stuck around through what I imagine to be a lot worse than anything you could tell me right now that I don't already know." He had never seen Sherlock like this, he looked so… unsure of himself, in a way that was entirely unnatural on the detective who was usually so blunt with what he wanted to say, so confidant. But this version of Sherlock made John want to take him into his arms and comfort him. Sherlock didn't meet his eyes but, barely John heard the words he had longed to hear since long before he jumped off the building and disappeared for years, but it still took him by surprise when this god, this man whispered, "It's always you John, I'm in love with you."

Before he would allow John to utter a word in retribution and to kick Sherlock out of his life, the detective was off the couch and almost tumbling down the stairs to get away form the room that had become suddenly become very suffocating. He didn't have his shoes on as he left the flat, but even though he could hear John calling his name the panic in his stomach spurred him to run away from the hate that John was certainly going to dish out to him like he had when Mary had died. Mary! Oh God! How could he be so selfish, John was clearly still mourning her death, how could he be so stupid. He continued running down the street before he felt a sharp pain in this foot that caused him to fall and scrape up his head elbows and knees. 'Great,' he thought, now his outsides felt like his inside. Sherlock then dragged himself to a lamppost, dragged himself up, and for the first time since his childhood, wept. He continued like this before he repeated Mycroft's mantra about caring 57 times. Eventually he calmed down and was able to inspect his injuries. People went by giving him stares in disdain but not one offer of help or comfort. He looked down at his foot to see blood running like a small stream out of a wound inflicted by a piece of broken glass left on the street. The rest of his scrapes were of little consequence, but he resolved that he did in fact need to return to 221B to get medical supplies and to disinfect the wound. Sherlock grabbed the lamppost and pulled himself into a standing position and all but hopped the three and a half blocks back to Baker Street, expecting to find John and Rosie missing and the flat empty and devoid of life. When he walked through the door however Mrs. Hudson was there to meet him. "What do you think you were doing? Running from the man like that! You ought to be asha-... SHERLOCK! You're bleeding!" she turned around and called up the landing, "John! He's home! And he's bleeding!" suddenly like an angel Doctor John Hamish Watson appeared in the doorway.

John decided he wouldn't say anything as he helped Sherlock up the stairs. They made their way to the kitchen and had Sherlock hop up and sit on the counter, a position the detective was familiar with after having been chastised by Mrs. Hudson so many times. John grabbed a towel out of the right hand drawer, and wrapped it around the injured foot. After roughly 30 minutes of minimal talking the wound was closed and all other scrapes cleaned and bandaged. Finally, John finished and looked at Sherlock sitting on the counter, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Where's Rosie?" was all he asked

"With Mrs. Hudson downstairs. You ran out in quite a hurry, I needed her out of the way if I was going to find you." his voice was soft and soothing, and again John tried to meet the other man's eyes but to no avail.

"Oh"

A few awkward seconds passed in silence before John decided to get Sherlocks attention but turning his chin with his finger. "Sherlock. Look at me." his voice was more of a question than a demand but nonetheless, Sherlock begrudgingly obliged. "That was a dumb thing to do, you know that right?" Sherlock nodded his head like a small child being chastised for sticking his hand in the cookie jar, his black curls moved with his motions, sweeping his his face gently.

"Please, don't hate me." it was such a small plea that John almost didn't recognize it coming from the man's mouth. This prompted John to run his fingers through the curly black hair. It was even softer than he had imagined, and Sherlock made an almost purring noise that made John wish never to stop, but instead, he cupped his hand beside the face of his precious detective.

"Oh Sherlock, I couldn't hate you if I tried." Hurt green eyes looked into his, they held mistrust and uncertainty as if expecting a slap from him. But nothing came except John's other hand to pull away the curls from the man's face.

"I've been meaning to tell you for a while now… that I'm head over heels for you. But it seems you beat me to that in both aspects." This enticed a good laugh from man on the counter. Sherlock's eyes then locked onto his, suddenly serious, "Do you mean that? Or are you saying that just to placate me?"

"Sherlock, you dolt! Of course I mean that. If you need proof go ask Lestrade."

"You too then hmm?"

"Me too what?" John looked utterly perplexed

"You've been telling Lestrade of your pinings as well as I have?" Sherlock asked with a smirk.

"It appears he's the only friend we've got between the two of us." this elicited a long laugh from the pair as they realized the irony of their situation. After a few minutes, John ran his hand back through those gorgeous curls. "But, what I was wanting to tell you before you so rudely interrupted me" he laughed a little at his own joke, "was that I have wanted to be with you for a long time now, back at the pool with moriarty, it was then that I kind of saw it and then my crush got worse and worse and I had to keep reminding myself that I'm straight, and then when you jumped off that roof I bottled it all inside, I was so hurt…"

"I know, I saw you," Sherlock agreed sadly his face riddled with guilt, "I had agents keeping an eye on you to make sure you didn't do anything stupid" John smiled at that.

"Then you came back and I was so mad at you for leaving and I was with Mary and as much as I wanted to be with you, I did love her. Maybe not in all the ways I should have or the way that was proper for a husband to love his wife, but I did. And so I stayed with her all the while wanting you. And then when Mary died, I didn't know what to do, I felt so guilty…"

"I know I shouldn't ha-"

"No, I'm glad you did, because the longer I kept ignoring all the compliments you gave me and making my tea and taking care of Rosie, I knew, in the back of my head I knew, but as long as you didn't say it, _my_ feelings weren't real. But I want you, sherlock. And you don't have to run from me for being human. You never have to run away. Please promise me…. Would you stay? Will you let me love you? Can I take care of you the way I've wanted to for years now?"

And for the second time that day, tears filled Sherlock's eyes, this time in joy as his head nodded up and down untrusting of himself to speak.

"And we can wait for the physical stuff for awhile and we can go over everything in the morning, but for now, can I just make us a cup of tea and then we go to bed? It's 01:38 and you need to elevate that foot.

"Okay."

John proceeded to make both of their favorites and then handed the saucer to the detective

"Goodnight. Thanks John." Sherlock awkwardly ended a little unsure how to close the evening. And started to walk out of the kitchen. John, with his back turned just called out, "Oh, and by the way…. I love you too." Sherlock grinned and hobbled off to his bedroom on his bandaged foot.

All John could think as he got ready for bed was, 'wait till Greg hears about this one!'


End file.
